


By Blood and By Me

by NicoleKrystina



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Battle of Bosworth Field, English History, F/M, Henry VII - Freeform, Magic, Medieval AU, Richard III - Freeform, Soldiers AU, The Tudors - Freeform, The Yorks, War, War of the Roses, Witch Curses, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 04:58:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6315745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicoleKrystina/pseuds/NicoleKrystina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England was at war; it had been at war with itself for years. Her husband had participated in many battles at the beginning, when Edward had still been on the throne. It had scared Beth half to death, but she had accepted that Daryl had a duty to England and its monarchy. It was the most difficult thing she had ever gone through, and she realized that she was going to be expected to do it again. She had already lost her brother, Shawn, to the war effort. She wasn’t losing anyone else—especially the love of her life—when she knew that she could protect him. They had had so little time together, only two years, and she would pay whatever price she must to keep him alive and with her. War of the Roses/Magic AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Blood and By Me

**Author's Note:**

> So this was supposed to be for Bethyl AU week, but I got nervous about the plot and didn't post it. Now, I feel like I am at peace with it. I am still not 100% happy with it, but it is what I could come up with. Sorry for any mistakes, everyone! As per usual, I don't own any recognizable material.

By Blood and By Me

11 August 1485

Their cottage was quiet when the soldiers pounded on the solid wooden door.

Daryl sprung their bed at the sound, instantly awake, and pulled on his linen trousers as he rushed to the door. Beth followed swiftly behind him, her shift clinging to her sleep-warmed curves and her long blonde hair falling loose down her back.   

She held tightly to his hand as the three battle-hardened men strode into their home, their boots caked with mud and their clothing reeking of sweat. Beth cowered behind Daryl’s shoulder as they removed their helmets, shook their hair out from its flattened style; it wasn’t seemly for a woman to be seen in such a state of undress, even if she had just been rather rudely awoken from slumber.

The grizzliest of the men—his jaw was covered by a matted beard and his hair could have used a trim—introduced himself as Rick Grimes, a general of the king’s army. The men behind him were Shane Walsh and Abraham Ford, his lieutenants. The former was more imposing than the other two, his shaved head making the bones in his face that much more prominent and his dark gaze harsher.

“Henry Tudor has landed on our shores. King Richard informs us that he plans to attack his forces immediately. With circumstances such as they are, your services to his Majesty’s army are requested,” Rick murmured, handing Daryl a crinkled scroll with a cracked wax seal.

Beth read the inscription from over Daryl’s shoulder, her face going pale as she finished the formal summons. England was at war; it had been at war with itself for years. Her husband had participated in many battles at the beginning, when Edward had still been on the throne. He had fought voraciously for his king, had offered his bow and his life for him on more occasions than he could count. It had scared Beth half to death, but she had accepted that Daryl had a duty to England and its monarchy. She had stomached it, even though she had cried herself to sleep almost every might with the thought that she would never be able to hold him again, feel his arms around her when she woke. It was the most difficult thing she had ever gone through, and she realized that she was going to be expected to do it again.

“I was granted leave from his Majesty’s army a year ago on the premise that I contribute a portion of my wages to the king’s treasury. I’ve done that without fail. I see no reason as to why I need to fight the king’s battles for him as well,” Daryl protested, his arm going tense beneath Beth’s grip as he returned the scroll to its owner.

“I would be careful about whom you speak those words to, Dixon. That’s treason. Unless you want your head on a pike, you’d best get your affairs in order. The men leave for Bosworth Field on the morrow, and you _will_ be among them,” Shane growled out, his eyes heated in a way that made Beth’s skin crawl.

“You’re the best archer that the army has, Daryl. The House of York needs you. King Richard thinks this will be the battle that ends the war. A strong bowman among the ranks will help solidify the Yorkist forces. Please, Daryl. Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be. Have a good meal. Lie with your woman. Pray to God for your safety, for tomorrow we go to war.” Rick’s tone rung with finality, and Beth knew that Daryl would not escape his service.

Somehow, she managed to keep her tears at bay until the soldiers had fled the premises.

~*~

“I’m not going to let them take you,” Beth murmured into his skin, her face buried in his chest as it rose and fell steadily beneath her. She was draped over him, her leg and arm living manacles that secured her position against his heart. “You’re going to stay right here with me in this house, and everything is going to be fine.”

Her husband, who was running his fingers through her long blonde hair, paused in his actions for a moment. “Beth, you know I have to go. I don’t have a choice.”

Beth lifted her head to look up at him, her eyes pleading and desperate. “Maybe I could just—“

Beth raised her hand from where it rested against his ribcage, curled her fingers around the air until she could feel the cool metal of an arrowhead in her palm.

 They didn’t speak much about her powers. A woman could be burned at the stake for even whispers of witchcraft, and if anyone ever caught wind of Beth’s definite ability to manipulate nature, she would be executed for sure. It was one of the many reasons why they lived outside the village proper, along with Daryl’s desire to remain isolated from the other villagers.

She had told Daryl shortly after he had begun to court her, and he had accepted it as easily as the fact that she had blue eyes. _You’re still you,_ he had told her. _This is just another part of you._

That being said, he only approved of her use of it when they had no other options available to them. The most notable was the winter before last when they had gone two months without fresh meat, and Beth had conjured up a side of venison when Daryl had returned home from another unsuccessful hunt. Daryl was a hunter, and his failure to provide for her had left him guilt-ridden. They had been starving, and it had pained Beth to see Daryl so downtrodden and disappointed with himself.

At her most recent display of magic, Daryl shook his head, taking the arrowhead from her and burying it beneath his pillow. “No, Beth. All magic comes with a price, and I don’t want you to pay it for me. I’m just as important as any other soldier who fights for his king—no more, no less. I don’t deserve any special advantages over any other man, especially supernatural ones. I love you, girl, and I don’t want you to put yourself in a position where you are sacrificing things for me when such sacrifices are not necessary. I’m not going to leave you. I’m going to come back, and I will do so because I am strong, and because I know that you will be waiting for me here, safe.”

Beth wanted to argue, cry out that he was the only soldier she gave a damn about returning home safely. She had already lost her brother, Shawn, to the war effort. She wasn’t losing anyone else—especially the love of her life—when she knew that she could protect him. They had had so little time together, only two years, and she would pay whatever price she must to keep him alive and with her.

He was so beautiful, so strong and vital. When he held her, made her writhe and cry out in pleasure, she would rather be nowhere else. She had hoped that she could have given him a son by now, one with his feline blue eyes and unruly brown hair. They had been trying for months, and had had no such luck.

She felt that loss more than ever, still sticky from their lovemaking and on the brink of losing him once again. If she lost Daryl, she would have no family of her own choosing. Of course she had her sister, Maggie, and her father. They were her blood, and she loved them deeply, but they would never fill the void that would be left if the only man she had ever loved was ripped from her.

Whenever Maggie’s husband, Glenn, went to fight, she always insisted that if anything were to happen to him, she would mourn his loss forever, but she would continue to live because she had to. Beth liked to believe that she could do the same, but she knew with complete certainty that she would never love another the way that she loved Daryl. He was it; he was all for her. Without a child to have even a piece of him alive with her, she would be inconsolable.

So when Daryl rolled her over, whispered reassurances into her naval, her thighs, she made a vow that she would never lose this. He was hers, and she protected what was hers.

As soon as he fell asleep, she went to work. Rising from their bed after pressing a kiss to his forehead, she pulled Daryl’s tunic over her head so that it fell over her thighs as a makeshift dressing gown. Once in their tiny kitchen, Beth gingerly moved Daryl’s longbow from where it rested against the wall.

Placing it on the table in front of her—it was so long, she needed both hands to lift it—she took a deep breath before raising her hands so that they hovered over the skillfully crafted piece of yew. She recited the incantation as carefully as she could manage, the Latin words dripping from her tongue with a conviction that was steel and iron.

The bow glowed in the aftermath of the spell, beaming a soft gold for a few moments before it became a more natural soft brown once again.  She could hear her sister’s warnings in the back of her mind, Maggie’s stern voice thunderous. _Do not mess with life and death. Magic that toys with the order of things always comes with a price. A life for a life—no exceptions._

As Beth returned the bow to its place, the finality of what she had just done sunk into place. _A_ _life for a_ life: someone would have to die for Daryl to stay alive.

In the pit of her womb, she felt the heaviness of lead. There had never been a quickening, and Beth realized now that there never would be. In saving her husband’s life, she had given up all hope of their ever having children.

Her palms still tingling with the lingering magic, Beth sank to the ground beneath the table, her eyes wide with horror. Daryl would never forgive her for the choice she had just made, and just imagining the devastated expression on his face made tears pool over the barrier of her eyelashes.

The torrent of tears didn’t stop for hours, tears of grief for a soul she had never known and would never know. Tears of sorrow for her husband, who would never hold a child of his own blood in his palms after it had been poured from her womb. Tears of guilt, because she knew that he would never stay with her after her transgressions. He would find other women, fall in love and have children with them, while she stewed in her own misery.

When Daryl found her quivering under the table, eyes bloodshot and sore, he simply lifted her into his arms and took her back to their bed, rocking her until she fell into a fitful sleep.

~*~

In the weeks that followed Daryl’s departure, plague broke out in the village. It had been ravaging the countryside for months, and with the influx of wounded soldiers returning from battle, it was no surprise that it arrived in their small community.

Beth was recruited as a healer, and took to staying at her sister’s house in town while she aided the sick. It was a constant sore, watching Maggie’s family unit go about daily life as if it were owed to them. Her husband and children did chores and were tutored like life had just landed in their laps without a worry or care in the world. Beth resented them, now that she knew it would never be possible for her.

_You have no one to blame but yourself,_ she told herself. _Your unhappiness is your own fault. If you had just listened to Daryl, none of this would have happened._

_No_ , Beth argued with herself. _If I had listened to Daryl, I would have no guarantee that I would ever see him again, and that is infinitely worse than anything else that I might be forced to endure._

Her thoughts were interrupted by her sister’s frantic shriek of Beth’s name, the pounding of footsteps up the wooden stairs that led to Beth’s bedroom.

“Beth, you have to come with me. Father’s fallen ill. The doctor thinks it’s plague,” Maggie managed to gasp, her breathing laboured and her hand clutching her breast as she nursed a stitch in her chest.   

Beth rose from her perch at a quaint vanity and quickly followed her sister outside and across the fields that separated their household from that of their father, Hershel.  Their father had made a decent wage as an animal doctor, but even wealth does not ward off viral disease.

They found their father in bed, covers tucked up under his chin. He looked so small, so young under all of those blankets. Beth sat by his hip, taking his hand and smiling down on his face. “Hi, Daddy. You’re going to be okay, you know that?”

Hershel smiled from beneath the sheet that covered his mouth. She couldn’t see his lips move, but his cheeks rose as if he were smiling. “Oh, Bethy. You always were the sweet one. It makes me happy that you’re here.”

Beth smiled again, squeezed his hand. On the back of his hand, she could see the purple splotches that signified the spreading of the disease. “I’m not going anywhere. Maggie isn’t going anywhere, either.”

Her father fell into a coughing fit, seizing for minutes before he finally calmed. A trickle of blood fell from the corner of his mouth, which Beth promptly wiped away with a towel.

Reaching into a bowl of cool water, Beth soaked a clean towel before draping it over Hershel’s forehead. He was running a fever, a high one, and Beth made it her mission to keep her father as comfortable as possible.

The doctor had bled him—something about humours being out of sync—but she thought that every drop of lost blood only made him weaker. She would have treated him with herbal remedies from the beginning, but she was a woman and therefore her opinion was less valid.

Maggie left later that afternoon to go feed her own family, but Beth stayed with her father. She had no one to go home to at present, anyway.

Her father’s condition only worsened as the day went on, his coughing becoming more liquid, more like choking. His fever escalated from bad to worse, and he was falling into stints of unconsciousness that lasted minutes at a time.

Beth knew that he wouldn’t last the week. He was too old, too fragile. She took solace in the fact that he had had a long life, a good life. He had loved the wives that he had lost, and loved his daughters even more. She had never felt like a burden, like some daughters did to their fathers. He had never tried to arrange a marriage for her, and she had married Daryl for love with his blessing. Her father had been good to her, and she was grateful for that.

On his last day, Beth offered to cure him with her magic. She could do it, and all it would take was just a wave of her fingers. He shook his head, telling that he was old enough to know when his time had come.

He took his final breath a few moments later, and Beth cried against his chest until her throat ached.

~*~

Two weeks after the passing of her father, news came of the war effort at Bosworth Field.

The war was over. King Richard III was dead. Henry Tudor was now King Henry VII.

There hadn’t been a Lancastrian king on the throne since before Beth was born. She worried about the future of the country with a new king, but she was eager for Daryl to return home. As long as he had continued to use his bow, he would be fine. She prayed that her spell had been enough.

Beth knew that she would have to tell Daryl about her barrenness when he returned, and the thought left her feeling nauseated. It seemed as if her stomach was in a constant state of upheaval lately, upset in the mornings and the evenings and everything in-between.

She was peeling potatoes when he burst through the door, bow slung over his shoulder and his quiver full with his twenty-four arrows. He was dirty and there was blood splattered across his tunic but his eyes were bright and he was smiling and she couldn’t see anything but him.

The knife she was using clattered onto the counter as she rushed to him, her gown flapping at her ankles. Daryl dropped his weapon and sheath, freeing his arms to grab her as she launched herself at him.

_Thank God_ , Beth thought, burying her face in his neck and arms clinging to his shoulders.

His hands shifted down to hook her knees around his hips, locking his lips to hers. She devoured his mouth, clawing at his skin and huffing his scent into her lungs. In the next instant, he was taking her to bed and she was screaming his name and she wouldn’t have changed her decision for the world because this? Him? He was worth any price.

~*~

Three months later, Beth was awoken from sleep once again. This time it was due to a stirring in her belly, something that she had never experienced before. It was an insistent prodding in her low abdomen: a shifting, squirming movement that she despaired to hope for.

She waited a moment with baited breath, her hand low on her belly. There was pressure against her palm, and then Beth was crying.

_A life for a life._ Beth hadn’t told Daryl about her spell, though she suspected that he might have known already. Her husband was the most attentive, observant person she had ever met. There was no way that she could have hid it from him for so long without him at least suspecting that something was up.

Now, she wondered if what she had sworn was lost had been returned to her. She had thought that the price of keeping Daryl alive had been the life of any child that they had tried to have, but the restlessness in her body seemed to negate that thought.

_How could this be? What changed?_ Beth questioned herself, curling in on herself as if to better protect the life in her stomach from the outside world.

Suddenly, a flash of fevered skin and purple splotches rushed to the forefront of her mind, the dying wisps of breath from the lungs of a man that was out of time. Beth could still feel her father’s chest cease to move beneath her ear, his heart stuttering to a stop as he whispered his last thoughts into her ear. ” _My time is no longer my own.”_

Realizing that the price she had been so determined to pay had been tendered without her knowledge or consent, Beth’s tears bled afresh into her hair and onto her pillow. Her father. Her own father was lost to her because her husband had lived. Beth’s stomach writhed with grief once again, the pain of losing him again rising to the surface.

Hershel Greene had been the sacrifice that was necessary to keep her future alive. Her father had been her past, her foundations. Now those foundations were lost to her, and she wondered if her father’s insistence on letting the future write itself without her meddling in it had been because he had known what she was willing to sacrifice to keep her love safe. She wondered if he had known that feeling before, had made the same agreement with the Fates when he had made his wives amulets that would allow them to live through childbirth.

_My time is no longer my own._ The loaded words convinced her that he had been entirely aware of what he was doing, what he was giving up for her. She only prayed that she deserved to have such a noble act done in her honour.

Feeling the gentle nudge against her belly once again, Beth reached behind her and grasped her husband’s hand. She guided it over her waist and pressed it to the insistent pulse, keeping it there for several moments. Daryl’s palm spread over the span of skin, covering the breadth of her stomach with the length of his fingers.

Beth shifted back against him until his breaths stirred the hairs on the back of her neck, smiled when the pressure in her belly increased again against his fingers.  

_A life for a life,_ Beth mused. _No, not quite._

Her father would live on so long as she kept his sacrifice in her heart, and Beth vowed to make damn sure that she would never forget the cost of living. 


End file.
